I feel like I’m going mad.

Two realities coexist in my mind that are fundamentally incompatible with each other. No person should be able to hold both thoughts at the same time.

On the one hand, Sylvia’s challenge — the challenge I’ve agreed to — feels wrong on such a profoundly visceral level that it makes me recoil. It gives me occasional bouts of nausea. It sends my heart into a panicked frenzy.

But on the other hand…

It’s been three days, and the idea of seducing Chris has lodged itself firmly in my brain. I’ve never been the kind of sister who’s there for him when he needs me. Sure, I bought him Cosmic Quest and I’ve been doing all the chores, but that doesn’t make up for the entire time I spent being a dick to him.

That’s just not what big sisters do.

And while there’s something off about Syl’s task, I do have to admit there’s a certain sense to it. What college guy doesn’t need a sexual outlet? It’s basic biology.

If I helped him like that, it would also be further optimization. I would get to be selfless in my own time, too… even if I do have to admit that the prospect is a little daunting.

But it’s selfish to be daunted by altruism. Come on. If I get my brother to fuck me, It’ll just be another example of me being selfless, the way I’ve always tried to be lately. The way I should be.

I find myself studying my brother from across the living room. He’s hunched over his laptop, probably reading lecture notes for his own classes. His brow furrows in concentration, and I notice the tension in his shoulders. Poor guy. College stress is hard enough without adding sexual frustration to the mix.

“You look tense,” I say, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Not too close. Not yet.

Chris barely glances up. “Just this assignment. The professor’s infamously assholeish about it.”

“You should take a break. Maybe we could watch a movie?”

I slide a little closer, letting my knee brush against his. A tiny jolt runs through me at the contact. Not a pleasant jolt… at least, not exactly. I’m not attracted to my brother, in any way.

But the warm, fuzzy feeling of doing right by others is motivation enough. That, and the pretty, pretty colors I see whenever I close my eyes…

He shrugs, still focused on his screen. “Maybe later.”

I need to be more strategic about this. I stand and stretch, making sure to arch my back just enough that my shirt rides up. “I’m going to make some popcorn. You sure you don’t want to join me?”

This gets his attention. Chris has never been able to resist food cooked by others. “What movie did you have in mind?”

An hour later, we’re halfway through some action flick I chose at random. The important thing is that we’re sitting side by side on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between us. Every so often, our hands brush as we reach for kernels simultaneously. I make sure it happens more often than it needs to.

“Sorry,” I say the fifth time it happens, not sorry at all.

Chris shifts uncomfortably. “It’s fine.”

When the popcorn is gone, I remove the bowl and slide closer, until our thighs are pressing together. I can feel the warmth of him through my jeans.

“Is this okay?” I ask, gesturing vaguely at our proximity. “I’m cold.”

“Uh, sure,” he says, but I notice he’s gone rigid beside me.

I rest my head against his shoulder, and for a moment, my resolve falters. It’s like the whole world lurches, skipping out of sync for a second. What am I doing? I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice, and if I do this, there will be no going back…

But then, the pretty mist closes in, and the world seems fine again. That’s just like old Phoebe, to find any excuse not to be kind to other people. I don’t want to be that person anymore. This is normal. My behavior is totally normal.

Over the next few days, I keep finding excuses to be around him. I ask for his help reaching things in high cupboards, even though I’m perfectly capable. I brush my fingertips against his arm when I talk to him. I wear shorter shorts and lower-cut tops when I know we’ll be alone in the apartment.

It’s all just to make him comfortable with me, to build up to my offer to… help him, so to speak. That’s all.

I don’t get why Syl is so endlessly amused every time I send her an update about my progress.

“Do you think I’m dressing differently lately?” I ask Chris one evening as I join him on the couch. I’m wearing a tank top that shows more cleavage than I’d typically be comfortable with.

Chris keeps his eyes firmly on the TV. “I don’t know. Maybe? I don’t really pay attention to what you wear.”

I feel a flash of disappointment, then remind myself that this is a process. “Well, I’m trying to be more comfortable with myself. More confident.”

“That’s… good, I guess.”

I slide closer to him, until our sides are pressed together. “You know, it’s okay to look. I’m not going to be offended.”

Now he turns to me, confusion written across his face. “Err… What are you talking about, Phoebe?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just that I’m your sister. You don’t have to pretend I don’t exist as a woman.”

“That’s… weird, Pheebs. You’re being weird. What are you saying?”

I’m blowing this. I need to back off and reevaluate.

“Sorry,” I say, moving away slightly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

That night, I lie in bed thinking about my approach. The problem is that I’m not being direct enough. Chris needs to understand that what I’m offering comes from a place of genuine care. It’s absolutely what any loving big sister would do if she were as enlightened as I am about the needs of others.

I think.

The next morning, I catch him in the kitchen before he leaves for class. I’m wearing just a T-shirt and panties, my usual sleep attire, but I’ve picked the tightest, shortest T-shirt I own.

“Morning,” I say cheerfully.

Chris nearly chokes on his cereal when he sees me. “Jesus, Pheebs. Put some pants on.”

“Why? We’re siblings. It’s not like I’d wear more clothing at the beach. No need to make it weird, little bro.” I reach past him to get a mug from the cupboard, making sure my body brushes against his as I do.

“That’s not—” He stands up and steps back quickly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but you’re acting strange.”

I pour myself some coffee, considering my next words carefully. “I’ve just been thinking about how much pressure you must be under. College is stressful, and you’re always working so hard.”

“Okay…”

“And I know guys have… needs.” I take a sip of my coffee, watching him over the rim of my mug. “Physical needs. And you don’t have a girlfriend, so…”

Chris’s face goes through a fascinating series of expressions, finally settling on horrified understanding. “Phoebe, what the fuck? What are you getting at?”

“I’m just saying, I could help you with that.” I try to make my voice sound casual, matter-of-fact. “It wouldn’t mean anything. It would just be me helping you out. Taking care of you, like a big sister should.”

“That is NOT what big sisters do!” He’s backing away from me now, his breakfast forgotten. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is seriously messed up.”

“Is it, though?” I set down my mug and step toward him. “We’re both adults. It’s just physical release. And it would be just between us. No one would know.”

“I have to go to class.” Chris grabs his backpack and practically runs for the door.

I sigh as it slams behind him. This is going to be harder than I thought. But I’m not giving up. After all, I’m doing this for him, not for me. What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t follow through on something that would clearly benefit him in the long run?

That evening, Chris avoids being alone with me, staying in his room with the door firmly closed. That’s fine. Our parents are home anyway, so I couldn’t try anything regardless.

But when I next get an opening…

I know what I must do.

***

The next time we’re alone, I knock on the door to his bedroom. Now or never.

“What?” he says through the door.

“Can I come in? I want to apologize.”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Fine.”

I open the door to find him sitting at his desk, pretending to be busy with homework. I perch on the edge of his bed.

“I’m sorry about the last time,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, bro.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters, still not looking at me. “Let’s just forget it, okay? And, like… never, ever bring it up again.”

“No, it’s not fine. I crossed a line.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “But I want you to understand where I was coming from. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how selfish I’ve been my whole life. Always putting myself first, never considering what other people might need.”

This gets his attention. He turns to face me. “What are you talking about? You’re not selfish.” He looks briefly away from me, frowning. “Well, okay, not lately. I’ll grant that you’ve been plenty selfish in the past.”

“Exactly! That’s the point, little brother. I’m trying to be better now. More giving.”

“Is that why you bought me Cosmic Quest? Some kind of… weird AF atonement?”

“Correct.” I lean forward, looking earnestly into his eyes. “And I noticed how stressed you’ve been lately. I just wanted to help.”

“By offering to—” He can’t even say it.

“By offering to give you physical release, yes. Because I care about you. Because your well-being matters to me.” I reach out and place my hand on his knee. “It wouldn’t be for me. It would be for you. I know you have needs, and as your big sister, it’s my job to take care of you.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No, absolutely not. This is insane, Pheebs. You’re my sister! We can’t do… that.”

“Look, it’s your choice. I simply wanted to let you know that the option’s on the table.” I give his knee a gentle squeeze. “Just think about it, okay? No pressure. I’m here if you want my help, but I won’t bring it up again if you don’t.”

I stand and move toward the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. “I just want you to know that I’m offering this out of love, and nothing else.”

I close the door behind me, hoping my words will sink in. After all, isn’t that what true selflessness is? Giving someone what they need, even when they don’t realize they need it? I’m just being the best sister I can be.

Besides, it’s my fault if he’s so reluctant to pick me up on this offer. Given how common the trope is in porn, it’s obvious that most brothers would just jump at the chance if they were offered sex by their sisters. If he doesn’t, it must be because I’ve been super abrasive to him for so long. He’s used to headstrong, selfish Phoebe. No wonder he doesn’t know how to react to this situation.

But he’ll learn.

I’ll make sure of it.

***

It’s been almost a week since I made my offer to Chris, and I’m starting to see small changes in his behavior.

The way he doesn’t immediately leave the room when I enter anymore. The quick glances when he thinks I’m not looking. The slight flush when I brush against him “accidentally.”

It’s progress. Slow and steady, but progress nonetheless. I have to admire my own persistence here—there’s something almost audacious about continuing to pursue this goal when he’s been so resistant. But I know it’s what he needs, even if he doesn’t fully realize it yet.

Of course, every time I falter, I have… incentives to continue. Sylvia’s always ready to spur me on. But even more relevantly, it’s addictive, this feeling of generosity, the way my body rewards my own selflessness.

And I’m expecting a big reward, this time. With our parents away on a trip, Chris and I have the place to ourselves until Monday morning.

I’ve planned this carefully, wearing loose pajama shorts and a thin tank top without a bra. Nothing too obvious—I don’t want to scare him off—but enough to make him notice. When I wander into the living room, he’s already on the sofa, watching some sci-fi show.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, standing in the doorway.

He looks up, and I catch the momentary flicker of his eyes over my body before he adjusts his gaze. “Sure.”

I settle next to him, not quite touching but close enough that he can feel my presence. For the first fifteen minutes, we just watch in silence. I let him get comfortable with me being there, let the tension ease from his shoulders.

“Want some popcorn?” I ask.

“No thanks.”

“How about a drink? Beer? Soda?”

He sighs. “I’m fine, Phoebe.”

“Just trying to take care of you,” I say lightly. “That’s what big sisters do.”

Chris shifts uncomfortably. “Can we not start this again?”

“Start what?” I ask innocently. “I’m just sitting here watching TV with my brother.”

He gives me a skeptical look but turns back to the screen. I wait another ten minutes before I make my next move, shifting position so that my leg presses against his. He tenses but doesn’t pull away. Progress.

“This show is pretty good,” I say, leaning closer to him as if engrossed in the plot. “Who’s that character again?”

As he explains, I let my head rest against his shoulder. He stumbles over his words but continues, his body gradually relaxing against mine. This is the most physical contact he’s allowed in days.

“Thanks for explaining,” I say when he finishes. “You’re so smart about this stuff.”

“It’s just a TV show, Phoebe.”

“Still. I like listening to you talk about things you’re interested in.” I look up at him, my face now just inches from his. “I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Thanks, I guess.”

I stay in that position, my head on his shoulder, for the rest of the episode. When it ends, he makes no move to get up or put on the next one. We sit in the dim light of the menu screen, the moment stretching between us.

I put my hand on his knee, just like I did a week ago in his bedroom. He doesn’t immediately push my it away, which I take as a positive sign.

“This is so messed up,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his voice than before.

“Is it?” I let my hand drift slightly higher on his thigh. “Or is it just two people who care about each other, one of them helping the other out?”

“But you’re my sister.”

“And as your sister, I want what’s best for you.” My hand inches higher still. One inch at a time. “I’ve looked it up, you know. It’s not actually that uncommon. And it’s only weird if we make it weird.”

I can feel the heat from his body now, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Most tellingly, I can see the beginnings of an erection straining against his sweatpants. My eyes flick down to it, then back to his face.

“See? How can it be weird, if your body’s reacting like that? It’s perfectly natural.”

“This is wrong,” he says, but he makes no move to stop me as my hand moves higher.

“It’s only wrong if it hurts someone. Is this hurting you?” I ask, my palm now hovering just inches from his growing bulge.

He doesn’t answer, which I take as permission to continue. I let my hand rest lightly on his erection, feeling it pulse under my touch through his sweatpants.

“Oh,” I say softly. “You’re already so hard. All that pent up stress…”

His breath catches. “Phoebe, we shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” I soothe him. “Just let me take care of this for you. You don’t have to do anything.”

I begin to rub him through his sweatpants, slow, gentle strokes. His eyes close and his head tips back against the sofa. I watch his face, fascinated by the play of emotions—desire, confusion, shame, pleasure.

Not that this is about me. It doesn’t do anything for me, really, I’m not into this kink at all. This is about him. About meeting his needs as unselfishly as possible.

“Does that feel good?” I ask, increasing the pressure slightly.

He nods, eyes still closed, as if not seeing me makes this easier to accept.

“I can make it feel even better,” I say. Before he can respond, I slip my hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, wrapping my fingers around his bare cock.

His eyes fly open. “Fuck! Phoebe, this is so wrong…”

“Does it feel wrong?” I ask as I begin to stroke him properly, getting a feel for his length and thickness. I’ve serviced enough cocks lately that it probably qualifies as a statistically relevant sample size, and my brother’s dick is pretty average to my touch.

But of course, it wouldn’t be very selfless to tell him that, would it?

“You’re so big,” I say, because I know that’s what guys like to hear. “And so hard.”

He makes a strangled sound in response.

I focus on my technique, varying the pressure and speed, paying attention to his reactions to learn what he likes best. When I swipe my thumb over the head, collecting the precum leaking there, his hips buck involuntarily.

“You like that?” I ask.

“Y-yes,” he admits, the word barely audible.

“Good. I want to make this good for you.” I use the slickness to ease my movements, my hand gliding up and down his shaft in a steady rhythm. “This is what big sisters are for. Taking care of their brothers.”

He moans, his eyes squeezed shut again. I can tell he’s trying not to think about who’s touching him, just focusing on the sensation. That’s fine. Whatever helps him enjoy this.

“It’s okay to let go,” I encourage him. “No one’s home but us. You can be as loud as you want.”

As if given permission, he moans more openly as I increase my pace. His hips start to move, thrusting into my hand. I can tell he’s getting close.

“That’s it,” I say. “Just feel good. Don’t think about anything else.”

I’m saying this to him, but in some way, it feels like it applies even more to myself. I’m not thinking about anything else. I’m just feeling.

Not in a sexual way, of course. I’m feeling the glow of giving to others, of making people’s lives easier and better. The glow’s never been this warm. I need to apologise to Syl for agreeing to her challenge with insufficient enthusiasm. This is the most selfless thing I’ve ever done.

The best thing I’ve ever done.

His breathing becomes ragged, his movements more desperate. I tighten my grip slightly, focusing my attention on the upper third of his cock where he’s most sensitive.

“I’m—I’m going to—” he stammers.

“It’s okay. Go ahead.” I work him faster. “Come for me, little brother.”

With a groan that seems torn from deep within him, he erupts, hot spurts of semen coating my hand and his stomach. I stroke him through it, easing off gradually as his body relaxes.

Insane to think about. I’ve just made my own brother cum, with my hand.

I can’t decide why it’s insane, though. Is it insane that I’ve done it? Or that I’ve only now done it, at Sylvia’s prompting, when I should have been worrying about his stress for some time like a responsible sis?

For a moment, we stay frozen like that—me with my hand on his softening cock, him breathing heavily, eyes still closed. Then reality seems to crash back in. He jerks away from me, yanking his sweatpants back up and covering himself.

“Oh my God,” he says, looking horrified. “We actually—I actually—”

“It’s okay,” I say soothingly. “It was just a handjob. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Phoebe, you’re my sister!”

I shrug, trying to keep things casual. “And now I’m a sister who’s helped her brother out. That’s all.”

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. But the flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes keep dropping to my lips, to my breasts visible through my thin tank top—these tell me he’s not as repulsed as he wants to appear.

“I should…” He stands abruptly. “I need to clean up.”

“Of course,” I say. “Take your time.”

As he practically runs to the bathroom, I sit back on the sofa, a satisfied smile playing at my lips. This was a significant step forward. Yes, he’s conflicted now, but the physical barrier has been broken. Now it’s just a matter of helping him become more comfortable with the idea.

God, Syl is gonna be so happy when she hears about this!

But not as happy as I am, basking in the glow.

***

The morning after, I wake up feeling strangely accomplished. Like I’ve unlocked a boss level of altruism. I’m amazing!

In fact, all of it was amazing. The feel of him in my hand, the sounds he made, the way he looked when he came undone…

It’s not that I’m turned on by it. Of course not. That would be weird and gross. But there’s a certain thrill in knowing I could bring him to that point, that I could make him feel that good despite his reservations. It’s the ultimate act of giving, isn’t it? Putting his needs above my own comfort?

The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing. Chris may not realize it yet, but he needs this. Needs me. I just have to make sure he wants what he needs, too.

I stretch languidly in bed, considering my next move. He enjoyed it—his body’s reaction made that perfectly clear—but his mind is still fighting the idea. That’s okay. I understand resistance to change. After all, I’ve been literally turning my own life around, lately. If I could make that transition, surely he can accept that what we’re doing is perfectly natural and beneficial.

When I finally venture out to the kitchen, Chris is already there, hunched over a bowl of cereal. He freezes when he sees me, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Morning,” I say cheerfully, as if nothing unusual happened between us last night.

He mumbles something inaudible and returns to his cereal, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the bowl.

I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching him. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us.

“So, about last night,” I say finally.

He flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Can we not?”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That you don’t feel weird about it.”

“Of course I feel weird about it!” He looks up at me, eyes wide and panicked. “How could I not? You’re my sister, and we… we…”

I almost finish the sentence for him, but then stop myself. Words won’t get through to him. It’s physical acts that have advanced my altruistic campaign, every time. So, delighting in the pretty colors of the mist swirling behind my eyelids, I take a step closer to him, and place a hand on his shoulder.

He tenses under my touch but doesn’t pull away. Encouraged, I let my hand drift from his shoulder to his chest.

He’s silent for a long moment, staring down at my hand on his chest. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to reconcile his physical desires with his mental objections.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Well, that’s okay. I think I know what can help him figure that out. Slowly, giving him time to object, I sink to my knees in front of his chair. His eyes widen as he realizes my intent.

“Phoebe, what are you…?”

What am I, indeed? Am I really going to suck my brother’s cock?

The world feels misaligned. Briefly, I experience vertigo. Briefly, I experience panic. Briefly, I feel like I’m going mad.

Fortunately, these unseemly cracks in reality are washed away by the colors. They always are. I’m really grateful for that moral clarity, because it means my hand is steady as I reach for the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

“Shh,” I soothe him. “It’s okay. I want to do this for you.”

I’m struck by how true that statement is. I really do want to do this for him. Not for me—there’s nothing in it for me except the satisfaction of meeting his needs. I’m being completely selfless, and it feels wonderful.

Words keep echoing in my mind, as they always do when I slip this deep into pure, gloriously unfettered altruism. Wants and needs. Hands and knees…

I tug his bottoms and boxers down in one smooth motion, freeing his half-hard cock. It twitches as the cool morning air hits it, and I watch, fascinated, as it begins to swell and lengthen before my eyes.

“Phoebe…” Chris’s voice is strained, pleading. But he doesn’t push me away or tell me to stop.

And so, I don’t.

I lower my head and take him into my mouth, my lips closing around the head of his cock. He gasps, his hands gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turn white.

I start slowly, just licking and sucking the head, getting him used to the sensation. His breathing becomes ragged, small moans escaping despite his apparent effort to stay quiet. I work him with a combination of lips, tongue, and one hand wrapped around the base.

I’ve been doing this so much, lately, to so many fellow students, that I’m practically an expert. Maybe that makes up for all the times I’ve blatantly ignored my little bro’s needs.

Even if it doesn’t, let nobody say he isn’t getting a world-class blowjob right now. That’s exactly what I intend to give him.

“Fuck, Phoebe…” he gasps out, sounding equal parts aroused and anguished.

I hum around him in response, sending vibrations along his length. Then I start to bob my head, setting a steady rhythm, taking him deep on each downstroke. I hollow my cheeks and suck hard as I pull back, my tongue swirling around the head before I plunge back down.

My mind goes blissfully blank as I lose myself in the task, focusing only on giving my brother as much pleasure as possible. The world narrows to the slide of his cock between my lips, the salty taste of his precum on my tongue, the sounds of his ragged breathing above me.

Who says blowjobs are submissive? Sure, they can be service, but poor little bro looks like he’s on the verge of going mad right now. My lips and tongue have him at their mercy. On my knees, I can unravel him so completely, despite his reservations. It makes me feel powerful in a strange way – not a selfish power, of course.

That just wouldn’t do.

It’s the joyous power of pure giving, of being so in tune with his needs that I can anticipate and fulfill them before he even realizes what he wants.

As I settle into an unrelenting rhythm, I let one hand drift lower to cup and caress his balls. They’re drawn up tight already, a sure sign that he’s getting close. I double my efforts, sucking harder, taking him deeper.

“Phoebe, I’m gonna… you need to stop, I’m going to…” His words dissolve into a moan as I take him fully into my throat and swallow around him.

I don’t stop. If anything, I increase my pace, pushing him relentlessly toward the edge. I want to taste him, to feel him lose control and spill himself into my mouth. I want to give him that release, that pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” he cries out, his hips bucking as he reaches the point of no return.

I feel his cock pulse and throb against my tongue a split second before the first spurt of his cum hits the back of my throat. I swallow quickly, greedily, drinking down every drop as he rides out his orgasm. His hands come to rest in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding me in place as I milk him dry.

When the last shudders subside, I let his softening cock slip from my mouth and sit back on my heels, looking up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes closed, his face a mask of conflicting emotions – bliss, shame, confusion.

Awe.

I smile to myself. That’s a job well done. The way forward is paved, now, and his barriers are coming down, one after another.

Game, set, and match.

***

Under different circumstances, I’d let some time go by before escalating further. But these consecutive days spent alone at home are simply too good a window to pass up. I’ve been planning for this opportunity, waiting for the perfect moment to take the final step in my mission of selflessness.

Tonight is that night.

I’ve chosen my outfit carefully – a sheer, lacy negligee that leaves little to the imagination.

I take a deep breath and exit my room, padding softly down the hallway to Chris’s door. I pause for a moment, my hand raised to knock, a flicker of doubt creeping in. Am I really going to do this? Seduce my own brother?

But then the swirling colors fill my mind, soothing and numbing, pushing away any hesitation. This is good. This is right. Attentive, generous, polite.

Wants and needs. Hands and knees…

I knock softly. “Chris? Can I come in?”

A pause, then a muffled, “Yeah, okay.”

I open the door and step inside, closing it softly behind me. Chris is sitting on his bed, looking at me with a mix of wariness and curiosity. His eyes widen as he takes in my revealing attire.

“Phoebe, what are you doing?” His voice is strained, but I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my barely-covered breasts, my long legs.

I walk slowly towards him, putting an extra sway in my hips. “I thought I could… relieve you some more. I feel like I didn’t finish the job, this morning. And I hate leaving things half-done.”

Leaving things half-done used to be the way I coasted through life, and other people’s demands of me. I’m happy I’m not that person anymore.

“I’m not stressed,” he says, but there’s no real conviction in his voice. “Look, you don’t need to…”

I reach the bed and crawl onto it, straddling his lap. He makes no move to stop me, his hands coming to rest lightly on my hips as if of their own accord.

“What I need isn’t important,” I say, grinding down against him. I can feel him hardening beneath me already. “Let’s focus on what you need, little brother.”

I lean in and capture his lips in a kiss, soft at first, then more insistent. After a moment’s hesitation, he starts to kiss me back, his hands tightening on my hips.

I’ve just kissed my own brother…

But there’s no misalignment, this time. Only the colors. Only the glow.

I break the kiss and trail my lips down his neck, nibbling and sucking. “I want to take care of you,” I say. “Let me do that, Chris. Let me give you what you need.”

His only response is a groan as I grind against him again, feeling his now fully hard cock pressing insistently against me. There’s only the thin fabric of my panties and his boxers separating us.

I reach down and grasp the hem of my negligee, pulling it up and over my head in one swift motion. I’m left in just my lacy panties, my breasts bare before him. Chris’s eyes widen at the sight, his breath catching in his throat.

“Touch me,” I say, guiding his hands to my breasts. “It’s okay. I want you to.”

He hesitates for just a second before cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. They harden instantly at his touch and I let out a soft moan.

As he continues to explore my breasts, I reach down and tug at his boxers. He lifts his hips to help me slide them off, freeing his erection. It stands proud and thick, the tip already glistening with precum.

I rise up on my knees and push my panties to the side, positioning myself over him. I’m wet already, which briefly takes me aback. That’s surprising, isn’t it? I don’t find this hot, at all. I’m really just acting in his best interest. Maybe it’s the reward rush that’s making me wet…

I shrug. So long as it feels good, why question it too closely?

“Phoebe, wait,” Chris says, his hands gripping my hips to still me. “Are you sure about this? We can’t go back from here.”

I look into his eyes, seeing the conflict there. The desire warring with the shame and uncertainty. I understand. But I also know that it’s high time I started acting like a proper elder sister.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I say. And it’s true. Moral clarity feels better than sex, and I’m incredibly grateful to have it now.

And with that, I sink down onto him, taking his cock deep inside me in one smooth motion. We both gasp at the sensation, the feeling of him stretching me, filling me so completely.

I begin to move, rising up until just the tip remains inside me, then sliding back down to take him to the hilt. Chris’s hands tighten on my hips, guiding my movements as he starts to thrust up to meet me.

There’s no frantic urgency, no desperate rush towards completion. Instead, we move together in a slow, steady rhythm, savoring every sensation. The drag of his cock inside me. The way my cunt grips it. The sound of our ragged breathing mingling in the quiet room.

I want more. Not more cock, not more sex, but more closeness with my brother.

More glow.

I lean down to kiss him again, our tongues tangling as our bodies move in sync. I can feel every inch of him inside me, stretching me in the most delicious way. His hands roam my body, caressing my breasts, my back, my ass.

I break the kiss to sit up straight, changing the angle of penetration. I gasp as his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot deep within me.

I start to ride him faster.

“Fuck, Phoebe,” Chris says, his grip on my hips tightening. “You feel so good.”

“You too,” I say, but it’s not his cock I’m talking about. Though it’d be most unkind to tell him that. No, it’s the fact that he’s finally starting to accept that I can be such a good big sister, that I can look after him.

That’s fuel for the fire inside me. The glow is now a blaze. The rush of happy chemicals is now a waterfall. I can feel my orgasm building in response, a tightening coil of heat low in my belly. Naturally, I don’t chase it. That’d be what the old Phoebe would do… not that she’d ever consider fucking the stress out of her brother, the contrarian little bitch.

I watch his face, the way his brow furrows and his mouth falls open, little gasps and moans escaping him. I clench my cunt around him, delighting in the way it makes him curse and thrust up harder into me.

“That’s it, little brother,” I encourage him. “Fuck me just like that. Use me to make yourself feel good.”

He groans loudly at my words, his rhythm faltering for a moment before he redoubles his efforts. His hips piston up into me, slamming his cock into me over and over. The wet, obscene sounds of our fucking fill the room.

I can tell he’s getting close by the way his thrusts become erratic, his grip on me almost bruising. I’m right there with him, teetering on the edge.

“Come for me, Chris,” I say, my voice strained with impending release. “Let it all out. It’s what you need. Let out your stress and your cum both.”

With a guttural moan, he does just that. His cock pulses inside me as he shoots his load deep in my cunt. The sensation of his hot seed filling me makes the blaze inside me shine even brighter, and that is what finally tips me over. My pussy spasms around him as I come undone, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over me.

This is more than just an orgasm. It’s an all-encompassing, totalizing experience that seems to wash out the world around me, until it recedes impossibly far away. There is no outside world, not anymore. There’s just me, and my moral compass, and its just reward.

There’s only the colors.

All I feel is the glow.

TO BE CONTINUED…